It’s almost fifty miles until they get to the next town and the next motel. They’re quiet as they move their things into the room, but for the first time since the night in the chapel, there is no anger.

Sam gives Dean the first shower without a fight, figuring he’s had about as bad a day as they get lately; when Dean is done and it’s Sam’s turn he takes his time. His body aches and he’s beginning to honestly believe it’s simply because he’s been too long without Dean. The soap is harsh on his skin and the shampoo smells too much like a girl’s, but he stays under the hot spray until some of the tension in his shoulders washes away and the water starts to run cool.

Dean is lying on the bed by the window when Sam comes out; Dean is wearing only his boxer-briefs and has his arms folded up behind his head. Sam tosses his towel on the floor and digs through his duffel for clean underwear; he can feel Dean watching him and it starts a warm feeling in his belly and it spreads until he can feel the flush in his cheeks. He pulls on his boxers and turns to face Dean who, now, is staring at the ceiling.

“You killed me,” Dean says quietly.

“What?”

Dean looks over then, at Sam, and says again “You killed me” but Sam still doesn’t understand. Dean makes it a point not to look at Sam, to continue staring at the ceiling as he explains. “Well, Satan killed me while he was wearing your skin; snapped my neck like it was nothing,” Dean says, “in 2014.”

“Dean…” Sam starts, ready to defend himself, to tell Dean it will never happen because he will never let Lucifer in.

“I know,” Dean says before Sam can say anything else. “I know you won’t say yes, Sammy; I know you won’t kill me. I know all of that and… I think we’re gonna be ok.”

Sam lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding and goes to Dean’s bed; he climbs onto the bed, right next to Dean so they’re touching and turns Dean’s face towards him, and kisses Dean softly. When Sam pulls back Dean looks at him for just a moment before pulling Sam back.

They kiss like they’re teenagers and it feels like hours before Dean’s hand slips passed the waistband of Sam’s boxers, fingers wrapping around Sam’s dick. Sam breaks their kiss, moaning loud, like it’s the first time he’s ever been touched – it feels like the first time Dean ever touched him, electric and white-hot and so, so good. He bucks so hard into Dean’s hand he’s afraid he might dislocate Dean’s wrist.

“It’s ok,” Dean whispers. “I’ve got you.”

Sam lifts his hips when Dean tugs Sam’s boxers down, and Sam watches as Dean pulls them down his legs and off. Dean steps away for just a moment to pull of his own underwear before climbing back onto the bed, back onto Sam. They just barely have time to find a good rhythm, grinding against each other skin-to-skin, when seemingly out of nowhere Sam feels a need so strong to taste Dean that his mouth waters just at the thought.

Sam grabs Dean by the hips and pulls him forward, pulls Dean up his body until Dean is practically straddling Sam’s face. Dean braces his hands on the wall above Sam’s head and lets Sam guide his dick into Sam’s mouth. Dean groans at the feel of Sam’s mouth on him, realizing how much he’s missed this part of them – how much he’s missed every part of them.

Dean watches his dick sliding between Sam’s lips, the feel of Sam taking him all the way into his throat is almost enough to make him come right then, and it takes everything he has not to. He holds himself still, watching the slip of his cock between Sam's stretched, slick lips. He rests one hand on Sam’s head, fingers gently tangled in Sam’s hair, the other hand on Sam’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to think about how Sam’s gotten better at this since he went to hell, and still it makes his stomach clench in jealousy and anger, but he keeps his hands gentle on Sam.

Part of Dean wants it to be just like this, wants to come down Sam’s throat until his legs shake and he can’t stand up anymore. As much as he wants that, he’d rather come buried so deep in Sam they can barely stand it. He pushes gently on Sam’s shoulder and pulls gently at his hair to get him to pull off. Sam looks obscene there, lips red and wet from being wrapped around Dean’s dick, and he breaks Dean’s heart because he can see that fear in Sam’s eyes , afraid Dean is going to change his mind and push Sam away.

“It’s ok,” Dean says, rubbing the pad of his thumb against Sam’s lips. “I just want to be inside you. Can I?”

“God, yeah,” Sam says, voice wrecked and pupils blown. He surges up and kisses Dean like he’s dying, like he’ll never get to kiss him like this again. “God, Dean, please.”

The desperation in Sam’s voice makes Dean’s chest ache.

They don’t have any lube, but there is generic lotion on the table next to the bed. It’s not the best thing to use, but it’ll work, and with some kind of slick he won’t hurt Sam. He reaches over and grabs the bottle, opening it and tipping it upside down to squirt some onto his fingers. He can feel his breath stutter watching Sam touch himself, hand sliding slow and rough on his dick, and waiting for Dean – and it hits Dean so hard all of a sudden that he can’t breathe: it’s always been Dean’s, all of it, all of Sam, and it hurts so goddamn bad thinking he almost let him go.

He watches Sam watching him, and pushes two fingers into Sam at once. Sam tips his head back, long line of his throat vulnerable and exposed to Dean, and Dean can’t not taste him. He bends forward over Sam, fingers working him open, and bites at Sam’s throat, tongue soothing afterward and Sam moans long and low making Dean’s cock leak in anticipation.

“God, you’re so tight, Sammy,” Dean says against his skin, and he can feel Sam’s throat working on a swallow against his lips. “Taste so good.” And as if for emphasis he licks a line across Sam’s throat.

“No one,” Sam croaks. “No one but you gets me like this.”

The reality of what Sam just said slams into him like a freight train. He’d told Sam to go, let Sam leave, and still Dean was the only one. Sam’s so tight inside Dean knows it’s the truth, knows that no one has fucked Sam since Dean last did before he went to hell. Sam’s waited all this time just for him.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean groans, crooking his fingers in Sam, making him moan and arch his back, Dean’s cock dragging wetly across his hip. He slips another finger in alongside the other two, and Sam whispers fuck, arching against Dean and pulling him into a bruising kiss. Sam tastes like toothpaste, but underneath that is something that’s always been Sam, that Dean will always taste, always love. “Wanna fuck you, Sammy.”

Dean pulls away and Sam whimpers; he sits back on his heels and pours a generous amount of lotion in his palm and starts slicking up his cock. Dean makes it quick, because he needs it now, needs to be inside Sam so bad his body is aching for it. He lines up as he leans over Sam, sucking Sam’s bottom lip into his mouth and biting down lightly, soothing it with his tongue, and then pushes in, all the way in until he bottoms out. Sam’s head goes back and his mouth opens on a silent scream, and finally he moans out Dean’s name breathily; Dean stays still – Sam feels too good, and Dean wants this to last as long as it can.

Sam drags Dean’s head down and kisses him, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist, trying to push him deeper still. “Come on,” Sam whispers against his mouth. “Come on, Dean. Want you to fuck me, need you to.”

Dean braces his palms on the bed on either sides of Sam’s head and fucks into Sam harder. He hitches Sam’s legs higher on his hips, and grabs Sam’s hips for leverage. He changes his angle slightly, and Sam gasps suddenly, cries out oh fuck, Dean. It hurts his back a little, and his legs burn with the exertion, but he keeps the angle exactly the way it is, watching Sam fall apart underneath him. For a minute, he wonders if he’s fucking Sam too hard, but when he looks down Sam is painfully hard, cock blurting precome at the tip.

“God, Dean, please,” Sam begs. So Dean wraps a lotion slick hand around Sam’s cock, jacking him fast and hard, just this side of rough. Sam’s breathing gets harsh and quick, and he grabs onto Dean’s biceps so hard there will be bruises in the morning. “Fuck, oh fuck, Dean.”

Sam sort of curls upward, and then falls back, his back arching up and body going taught. In an instant Sam is coming, and coming; Dean watches him coming harder than he ever remembers seeing or feeling Sam come before.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean says, bringing his hand to his mouth and licking Sam’s come off his fingers before grabbing hold of him and fucking into him as fast and hard as he can manage, until he feels his orgasm start in the base of his spine and rocket out of him. He shakes with the intensity of it, emptying himself into Sam while Sam starts to come down.

When Dean feels his heart slowing down and his breathing starting to return to normal, he puts his hands on Sam’s hips and eases himself out; Sam still winces, but it’d been a while. Dean knows they are going to be sticky and uncomfortable in a few hours, but he wants to stay in bed with Sam.

“You ok?” Dean asks, settling behind Sam, tangling their legs together and pressing a kiss to the damp hair at Sam’s nape. Sam nods, pressing back against Dean as if for warmth, but Dean knows that isn’t it.

“I know that I messed up, Dean,” Sam says softly. “I fucked up so bad and we might not be able to fix it, and I’m sorry. But I won’t say yes, Dean.”

“I know, Sammy,” Dean says softly, honestly. “We’ll be ok.”

It takes too long for them to fall asleep. It’s dusky outside, rainclouds just starting to roll in, and the wind is picking up and tossing gravel and leaves against the motel windows, and the motel sign shines red light through the slatted blinds.